


Walk Me Home

by HopeForTheWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Teacher/Student, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeForTheWitch/pseuds/HopeForTheWitch
Summary: She’d gone over and promptly tripped all over herself, landing at his feet. His chuckle was warm and deep and his hands were warm and big, and he helped her up and steadied her and she’d looked at him through her fringe and handed over her lines with a blush.Harry has a terrible crush on her teacher.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 10
Kudos: 234





	Walk Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Title honestly has nothing to do with the fic, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate so I chose the song I listened to while I wrote this.  
> 2) I apologise for the slew of female Harry I've been throwing at AO3, but I only just got comfortable writing explicit, so I'm testing the waters with het before I jump into the unknown and write regular Harry. Thanks for understanding <3

Harry’s unfortunate crush started all the way back in her second year.

She had detention and Professor Riddle had been relatively new then, had started two years prior to the beginning of her Hogwarts career. While she had detention he was packing up and about to move to a new location, and when she was done with her lines he wasn’t paying attention, instead focused on the stack of books near the staircase leading into his office. 

She’d gone over and promptly tripped all over herself, landing at his feet. His chuckle was warm and deep and his hands were warm and big, and he helped her up and steadied her and she’d looked at him through her fringe and handed over her lines with a blush.

Professor Thomas Riddle was much of a mystery. The only thing well known about him was that he was intelligent, which wasn’t hard to discern at all, and according to rumour he was older than he looked; he looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with dark brown hair and light grey eyes, tall and lean and always impeccably dressed.

Harry’s parents and their friends said he had a shady past, but nobody seemed able to discover evidence of said shady past, only that he held multiple masteries. Harry personally thought that if he truly was a bad person like her parents claimed, surely Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him in the first place?

*

Harry’s crush stays pretty stable throughout the years.

Then one morning in seventh year she oversleeps and misses breakfast and the beginning of his class. She’s half afraid Professor Riddle’s going to turn her away at the door because he’s tying first place with Professor Snape and McGonagall when it comes to strictness. She knocks and waits for it to open. 

Ron opens it and he winces in sympathy when he spots her. The walk to her desk in the front feels like one of shame.

“Decided to grace us with your presence after all, Ms. Potter?”

Harry bites her lip. “I overslept, Professor,” she whispers.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to mark you absent for the first hour.”

Her eyes widen on their own accord. “But it’s only—” 

“Detention, Ms. Potter,” he says softly.

She clamps her mouth shut and sits down.

*

Her crush destabilises during detention that night. It’s highly inconvenient.

It’s been years since her last one with him. She’s a good student, alright, she doesn’t do detentions. She gets above average grades. They’re nothing special like her friend Hermione’s, but also not as bad as her friend Ron’s. It lets her escape notoriety, which suits her just fine. Though since the start of her sixth year Professor Riddle singles her out for her Defence skills sometimes, especially during demonstrations. While her theory is on par with the average student, on practicals she vastly outperforms her peers.

The door falls closed behind her after entering his classroom, and while usually that would be something to cause her to jump in surprise, her brain is occupied with visions of Professor Riddle’s skin, the flash of his wrists while he hikes up the sleeves of his dress shirt. With the way he insists on formal wear in and out of class, he may as well be nude, she thinks, a little dazed at the sight of the top three buttons on his shirt undone.

When she looks up, his eyebrows are raised, though he seems amused. He is a merciful teacher and says nothing, however, only gesturing at her customary desk. She sits down obediently, staring hard at a scratch on the surface.

He comes to stand behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “What will we do with you, Ms. Potter,” he says, and he sighs deeply as if troubled. “An essay, perhaps, on the value of your teacher’s time?”

She tries not to lean into his touch, afraid it’ll go away. “I was only—” 

His thumbs press into her neck and she feels goosebumps break out all over her arms. “Do you not remember what you have detention for in the first place?”

“Yes, sir,” she says with her own sigh. “But I wasn’t—” 

“ _Ms. Potter_ ,” Professor Riddle says sternly, squeezing her shoulders in warning. Finally he steps away, and Harry feels like she can breathe freely again. “Lines will do.”

*

That same week Harry lands in detention, again, for _cheek_ of all things because she just can’t help herself apparently. Having learned from the previous time, however, she gets herself off before going to detention, getting rid of any tension, because the previous time left her so frustrated she was trembling with it. 

This proves to be a great tactic when he stands behind her again and his hands land on her shoulders and while she wants to melt into his touch, she doesn’t actually turn into a brainless goop, manages to keep her wits about her.

As Harry writes lines, she sometimes thinks he’s looking at her but whenever she looks up, he’s just grading first year tests with a grimace twisting his lips downward. Even that way he looks gorgeous, she thinks to herself angrily, almost ripping through the parchment. No man has the right to be that handsome, especially not _old_ men.

*

The third time Harry lands in detention, there’s some snickering from her classmates while her cheeks colour with embarrassment, which Professor Riddle quickly puts a stop to when he threatens that they will join her shortly if they don’t quiet down.

*

More lines, more glances. This time Harry catches him at it and she can’t decipher the look he gives her before he turns back to whatever paperwork he’s working on.

She feels strangely triumphant.

*

The fourth, fifth and sixth time he’s reading. She’s getting frustrated because she doesn’t know why he keeps giving her detention when she talks back while he’s content letting others do it without repercussion. He doesn’t bother with lines this time, at least he lets her work on her homework. 

Her friends think it’s hilarious by now, especially because they’re perfectly aware of her crush the size of China. Honestly, chances are everyone is aware of it but they’re just kind enough not to mention it to her face, which leads to the horrifying realisation that _Professor Riddle_ most likely knows about it too.

*

Seven is a magic number, is it not?

_Yes it is._

*

He waves her in and closes the door behind her with a lazy wave of his wand without looking up from his book. She sits at her desk, right in front of him, and takes out her textbooks and her notes from class; may as well work on Defence while she’s here. He always answers her questions if she has them, after all, why should a detention be different?

When Harry’s done with her lines, Professor Riddle is standing near a window, looking outside at the grounds. They’re too high up for anyone to be able to see him stand there, plus the windows are obscured from outside. She leaves the parchment on his desk and joins him at the window, standing close to the glass to be able to see better despite the darkness. There’s a path of magical torches lighting up the lake in certain spots.

Professor Riddle comes up behind her, and the atmosphere changes with how close he stands. Harry tenses up, her heart beating wildly inside her chest when his hands find her shoulders once more. She dares to lean into them, her eyelids fluttering, pulse quickening at his light touch.

“Tell me, Ms. Potter, have you ever wanted someone so much you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself?” he asks softly, tugging lightly on her hair.

Harry breathes in deeply. “Yes,” she says, barely audible.

His hands let go of her braid and fall down to grip her hips. “If you weren’t my student,” Professor Riddle starts, then cuts himself off and it’s his turn to take a deep breath. His fingers tighten their hold and he steps closer to her, presses his hard member against her lower back, leans in to whisper in her ear, “I want to _fuck_ you.”

She turns around and throws her arms around his neck while his hands move to cup her arse. She searches his face for a sign, _any_ sign at all that it’s okay, that he'll allow her. He returns her gaze calmly, though his eyes are dark, and when she finds the permission she was looking for, she pulls him down to her level and kisses him with all the desperation from the last few torturous weeks.

Riddle more than allows it, lifts her like she weighs nothing and deposits her on his desk, hiking her skirt up. He smirks into the kiss when he finds her soaking her underwear. “Eager, Ms. Potter?” he breathes into the pocket of shared space between them, fingers spreading her pussy, fingertips teasing at her opening.

Harry colours brightly but before she can come up with a retort, a loud moan spills from her lips when he pushes a finger past her entrance. She grabs at his arms, eyes rolling back and her legs fall open further, welcoming him, giving him better access.

“So sensitive,” Professor Riddle remarks mildly when she clenches around his finger. “And that’s just one finger.”

She looks at the ceiling so she doesn’t have to look at him, shame curling hot in her chest.

“I never said it’s a bad thing,” Riddle says, and when she glances at him, he gives her a rare smile, biting his lip as he watches her. He fingers her with sure motions, and he clearly knows what he’s doing because she falls apart in his arms within minutes, a scream past her lips as she shudders through it. He’s strangely gentle as she comes down from her peak, lets her cling to him while the tears dry on her cheeks.

She makes a mournful noise when he pulls his fingers out, but inhales quickly with surprise when he replaces them with his thick cock. Open and relaxed from his expert fingers and her orgasm, it’s only a mild sting, and she wonders if he knows he’s her first. 

Harry pulls her professor closer so she can kiss him, because she knows enough about kissing to recognise that he’s good at that too, their lips moving in a rhythm similar to the way he fucks into her, grinding in deeper until she has to hold onto him and she breaks the kiss with a wince when he pushes too far. He slows down but thrusts in hard instead, keeps himself pressed against her cervix for a few painful seconds before pulling back and diving in hard again.

“You drive me mad,” he pants against her cheek. “Did you think I didn’t notice? Or did you think I wouldn’t care? Coming to me smelling like _sex_.” He hisses something against her hot skin, then asks, “How many boys have had you before me? Have you ever been with a man?”

Harry swallows. _Have had_ , like she’s a thing that merely changed ownership and she’s in his possession now. A shiver runs down her spine, and she’s surprised at how much she likes that thought. “No,” she moans right as he thrusts in, his muscles tight with controlled power under her hands. “You’re the—you’re my first.”

“Fuck,” he groans against her throat.

His response emboldens her. “How many students—” but she can’t finish her sentence, holding onto his arms with a shout as he speeds up and starts a punishing pace. 

He throws her legs over his arms, leans in until she’s laying back on the desk and he covers her entirely. It feels a lot more intimate and intense and it changes the angle. Her eyes roll back at the new angle, her back arching, pressing herself further against him. 

“Oh god, _yes_ ,” she keens. “Right there, don’t stop.” A hand comes up to grip his hair, to keep him in place where he has his face buried in her neck.

He doesn’t stop, not even when orgasm crashes over her, fucking her right through it until she’s a convulsing mess and everything is _wet_. He laughs breathlessly against her throat, mouthing at her skin while she comes down and then his pace changes as he starts to chase his own high. She wishes she could see his face, but the way they’re entangled makes everything more intimate and she likes that too, can feel the shift of his muscles as he pushes into her.

And then suddenly she remembers—“You can’t come in me,” she says quickly.

“Oh, _hell,_ ” Professor Riddle curses, the implication clear. He pushes in twice more as deep as he can and then he stays there with a drawn out exhale and a cut off moan as his cock starts twitching violently inside her, shuddering in her arms. “You don’t tell a man to pull out when he’s _that_ close, darling,” he rasps against her cheek afterward, seeking her mouth for a searing, breathless kiss. 

He plants an elbow on the desk next to her and cards his long fingers through her hair while the other hand rests lightly at the base of her throat, their lips moving together slowly. He sighs and pulls back, looking behind him to locate his chair and then sitting down in it, cock still hanging out and half hard. He makes quite the sight. He wheels the chair closer, pulls her skirt out of the way so her pussy is visible to him, and pushes two fingers in her, pushes his come back inside.

She sighs, already resigned to the fact that she’s going to need Plan B and decides to just enjoy his touch while it lasts. She stares up at the ceiling as he plays with her pussy and they’re both silent, basking in the afterglow, and she refuses to get sad at the idea that this might be a one-off thing, that the chances of it are rather high.

“We made a mess,” Professor Riddle says, breaking the precious quiet. 

Harry blushes, sits up and leans back on her hands, looking at him through the V of her spread legs. “I did,” she says. As she says it, she’s still leaking their shared come on his desk.

Personally she hates how wet her orgasms are, but her teacher seemed to like it when he made her come, had watched her pussy intently when he’d fingered her and it’d got everywhere with the way he’d moved his hands during, like he _wanted_ it. Maybe, she thinks, it’s an adult thing, because whenever the girls in her dorm talk about orgasms, nobody mentions how wet they can be. Well, they’d talked about it once, and they’d shuddered as if it was gross, which hadn’t helped Harry’s perspective on it much.

But Professor Riddle had liked it when it happened and even said she was beautiful.

He cleans them both up from where he’s sitting in his chair, and Harry gets up on shaky legs, falls onto his lap when her knees give out. He catches her, grins at her, and pulls her further onto his lap so that she sits sideways on his legs. Post-orgasm Riddle is a lot less put together, she thinks fondly.

His hand goes between her legs again, playing with her pussy even though the only thing left there is her own slick. “Don’t forget to visit the hospital wing tomorrow morning,” he murmurs before kissing her, two fingers entering her though he doesn’t do much, just holds them there.

“You’re my favourite, sir, but that doesn’t mean I want your baby,” she assures him. She licks her lips, leans backward so she can look him in the eye. “You never answered me, sir. How many students have you fucked?”

He presses his tongue against his front teeth for a moment. “Just you,” he says. “I happen to like my job, so I’m not exactly in the habit of giving into temptation when it presents itself.”

“Honest?”

A smirk. “Honest.” 

“What do you mean, giving into temptation?” She narrows her eyes at him. “How often do students tempt you? Sir?”

Professor Riddle gives her a knowing look but he doesn’t answer, instead pushes his fingers in deeper so that she moans and clutches at his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers against her lips, “because you’re the one riding my fingers, and not them.” She doesn’t even notice she’s doing it until he says it, moving along with him, riding his leg. “Teenagers.”

Harry doesn’t think she’s able to come again, yet before long she’s soaking his trousers and shaking in his arms, kept on the edge for long minutes until finally she’s begging for it, and then she’s falling again, gasping for breath as he keeps rubbing her overheated skin.

“Teenagers,” Riddle repeats while she recovers. He spares the clock a quick glance. “It’s almost curfew,” he tells her, yet he doesn’t let her go.

Harry ends up flinching away from his fingers, closing her legs together and trapping his hand, keeping it still. “Too much,” she whispers. When she’s finally ready to get up, she’s still trembling, but at least she’s not going to fall over any second. She collects her things, stuffing her books in her bag while Professor Riddle gets his desk back in order.

“Ms. Potter,” he says, halting her. When she looks back, he holds the parchment with her lines up. The parchment is ruined, to say the least. “I’m afraid your lines aren’t in any acceptable condition, Ms. Potter. It seems another detention is in order. Tomorrow, same time. Don’t be late.”

Harry freezes, then drops her bag on the floor and marches over to him and stands so close his half-hard cock pushes into her stomach. She kisses his throat, the part of him that she can reach, and he leans in and captures her lips with a chuckle. “Right?” she asks afterward in case she read him wrong.

“Mhmm,” is all Professor Riddle says, pecking her on the lips and then giving her a light push toward the door.

_Well then._

Harry grins.

  
  


~fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading and I hope you have a nice day :)
> 
> My friend asked me if there's going to be a sequel to this, the answer to which is: _no_.


End file.
